The thefts of gods' property woke us around midnight
We blindly touch around us
and sleepy request the news
how much cool is the night
The dream persists
like an unbroken egg on a rock
And it is the moment when we dream about ourselves
And the centaur has the turtledove's head
With what autumns will we share
the meals of deer
we
who travel at night
and ask in such sleepy voices